‘That was on the evening just before the murder,’ confirmed the abbot.
‘Was Dabhóc concerned in this fight?’
‘He had intervened in the debate as peacemaker, no more. Many others did as well.’
‘Is it felt that Dabhóc was slain because of his attempt to act as peacemaker between the two?’ asked Eadulf.
‘No one knows what to think. Both Ordgar and Cadfan are confined to their chambers while Bishop Leodegar has been contemplating what to do. In a few days’ time the ruler of this kingdom, Clotaire, is due to arrive to give his approval to the findings of this council, but there has been no formal meeting, let alone debate on the motions that Rome has sent for consideration. As I say, many of the delegates are talking about returning to their lands.’
‘Leodegar has a tough decision to make,’ Fidelma observed.
‘He must either pronounce the guilt of one or the innocence of both,’ agreed the abbot. ‘Both men have proclaimed their innocence and both have proclaimed their hatred of one another-and so accusations are made with venomous conviction.’
‘And what do you say? You are the senior representative of Éireann.’
The abbot raised his shoulders and let them fall in a hopeless gesture.
‘That is my dilemma, Fidelma. You know the rivalry between my own abbey of Imleach and that of Ard Macha. In recent years Ard Macha has been claiming to be the senior bishopric of the five kingdoms, and now claims authority even over Imleach-yet Imleach existed before Ard Macha was established.’
‘How does this affect your thoughts on this matter?’ asked Fidelma, a little impatiently.
‘I am, as you say, now the senior representative. If I do not demand that a pronouncement of guilt and reparation be made following Dabhóc’s death, Ségéne, the abbot and bishop of Ard Macha, could accuse me and Imleach of not caring because Dabhóc was representing Ard Macha. If I do make the demand, then I am demanding that Bishop Leodegar make a decision that is a choice between the guilt of Ordgar or Cadfan. If nothing at all is done, then the council disbands and Leodegar has to answer to the Bishop of Rome.’
‘In other words, there is a political decision that weighs on your mind over and above the moral decision of what is right, what is truthful?’ Fidelma summed up.
Abbot Ségdae smiled tiredly. ‘I wish I saw it as so clear cut, Fidelma. But just consider this-the conflict between Ard Macha and Imleach and the conflict between the Britons and the Saxons balance on this matter. Whatever decision is made will result in resentment and conflict. I need advice in making that decision.’
Fidelma pursed her lips, as if in a soundless whistle, and glanced at Eadulf.
Abbot Ségdae meanwhile had suddenly noticed the lateness of the day. He rose.
‘Bishop Leodegar will be waiting for us. Let us not keep him further.’
Bishop Leodegar settled himself in his chair and regarded both Fidelma and Eadulf with a searching scrutiny. He was elderly; his black hair was streaked with grey and his eyes were dark and fathomless. His features were pale and lean, the skin tightly stretched across the bones, the Adam’s apple prominent. The way he sat, tensed and leaning slightly forward, put Fidelma in mind of a hungry wolf waiting to pounce.
‘You are both very welcome at the Abbey of Autun,’ he said finally, as if making up his mind about something. ‘Abbot Ségdae’, he glanced to where the abbot was seated alongside Brother Chilperic at the side of the chamber, ‘has told me much about you both, and it is good that you have arrived safely in this place.’
They were seated before him in chairs provided by Brother Chilperic.
Bishop Leodegar hesitated a moment, before continuing, ‘I understand that you have been told that this abbey consists of a house for the males and one for the females. We are not a mixed house, although both sexes come together in the abbey chapel for the morning and evening prayers. Here, we follow the idea that celibacy should be the Rule-and in celibacy we come closer to the divinity.’
Fidelma and Eadulf remained silent.
‘I realise that you follow those who do not agree with this Rule,’ went on Leodegar. ‘For the sake of the matter before us, we are prepared to overlook some of our Rule. The only condition I must stipulate is that you proceed with circumspection in this abbey.’ He paused, and when neither Fidelma nor Eadulf commented, he went on: ‘From what Abbot Ségdae has told me, it seems that you both have a talent for considering puzzles and finding solutions to problems. We stand in great need of such talent at this moment.’
Fidelma stirred slightly. ‘Abbot Ségdae has told us briefly of the facts,’ she said.
Bishop Leodegar nodded quickly. ‘Much hangs on the success of this council. The future of the western churches will be decided here.’
Eadulf raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘The future?’ he queried. ‘Surely that is an excessive claim?’
‘I do not speak such words lightly,’ Bishop Leodegar replied defensively. ‘The Holy Father has decreed that we should consider two matters very carefully and our decision on them will affect the churches here, in the west. The first and fundamental matter is the central doctrine of our Faith: which declaration of our beliefs are we to adhere to? Do we declare for the Credo of Hippolytus, or do we declare for the
‘
‘Indeed, Brother,’ responded Bishop Leodegar, ‘but should we not say
Eadulf smiled briefly at the exchange. Was there much difference in expressing a belief in God as Father, Son and Holy Spirit, and a belief in one God in Trinity, and Trinity in unity? Different words that meant the same thing.
‘And is that what this council is about? Simply the form of the words of the Creed, our declaration of Faith?’
Bishop Leodegar’s brows drew together. ‘You should be aware, Brother Eadulf, that among the churches of Gaul, and even among the Franks, the teaching of monothelitism has been developing, contrary to the orthodox interpretation of the Faith. It is therefore important that we have a universal creed, the Rule of our belief.’
‘Monothelitism?’ Fidelma tried to analyse the word from its roots.
‘The teaching of how the divine and human relate in the person of the Christ,’ explained Eadulf. ‘It teaches that Christ had two natures-divine and human-but only one will.’
Bishop Leodegar nodded approvingly. ‘The orthodox interpretation is that Christ had two wills, human and divine, which corresponded to His two natures. But monothelitism has gained favour both in the east and in the west. Honorius, the first of his name to be Holy Father in Rome, has favoured it and so it has spread.’
‘And the council is just to condemn that and agree on a creed?’ Fidelma realised that her knowledge was lacking in the constant arguments and decisions of the various councils of bishops that frequently met to decide what their flocks should or should not believe. She was more concerned with the law of her own country, and she had often questioned her entry into the religious life. It had only been a means to an end for it was the fashion of the five kingdoms for most of those following the professions to enter the religious.
‘It is also for the purpose of agreeing that there should be one Rule for all the religious houses in western Christendom,’ the bishop told her. ‘One set of laws as to how each community should conduct themselves.’
‘One Rule for all communities?’ queried Fidelma, with surprise. ‘But all our religious houses draw up their own Rule according to their individual needs and purposes.’
‘The Holy Father believes such matters should be made uniform through the Faith.’
‘And what standard does he suggest?’ she asked dubiously.
‘It has been suggested that the Rule of the Blessed Benedict, composed over one hundred years ago, should come to define how those in the abbeys and religious houses should govern themselves in their everyday life.’
‘I have heard of the Rule,’ Eadulf said, ‘but Benedict was from a place called Latina. His Rule was fitted for those of the community that he founded there, and it was shaped by his views and culture. Why should his Rule be applied to communities of other lands whose manner of living and culture are so very different?’
